


The End of Love

by triggerlil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Love Confessions, Magical Sickness, Mutual Pining, Scars, minor gore, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil/pseuds/triggerlil
Summary: “I want you,” Hermione says, cheeks flushing, but she doesn’t let go of Lavender’s hand. “I’ve wanted you, but I thought since you’re hurt, it wouldn’t be right, and I wasn’t sure you felt the same.”It's five years after the war and Hermione and Lavender have become very close. So when Lavender contracts a blood disease that interacts negatively with the werewolf in her, Hermione stays by her side.
Relationships: Lavender Brown/Hermione Granger
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	The End of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I was not in a great place when I started writing this, and on the one hand, I'm sad I treated these two girls to so much pain, but also I don't feel bad for adding some spice to the Hermione/Lavender tag. Either way, I hope you enjoy this story, it was very cathartic for me.
> 
> If you notice anything I forgot to tag please let me know, but I think I got anything that could be triggering!

##### PYLADES: What's going on? How are you feeling—dearest, sweetest, best of friends—you know you are all of these to me. 

~~~

Lavender reaches up to trace the lines of her face. Her fingers come away wet, and she sways on the spot, black spots dotting her vision. 

“What…” 

She feels hands on her shoulders, gripping tightly, and hears a voice in her ears that she can’t quite place, before her vision is tunnelling into darkness and everything goes still and silent. 

Like the flick of a light, she is out one moment, and awake the next. She comes to in a large, comfortable bed that is certainly not hers, with a deep red duvet cover and golden curtains. There’s a Wireless playing in another room and she can hear the gentle rustle of someone turning pages next to her bed. She turns to the side and there’s a shadow of a figure against the curtains. 

She tries to speak, but it comes out raspy and unintelligible. She reaches a hand to her throat and winces. 

Someone flings open the curtains, and there is Hermione, and she is everything Lavender ever wanted, and she is everything that Lavender cannot have. 

“Lav,” Hermione whispers, reaching out and brushing a curl off Lavender’s forehead. Her hand is shaking, and Lavender closes her eyes at the touch. She imagines that she is waking up on a normal day, Hermione laying in bed next to her, lovingly brushing the hair from her forehead and leaning in for a sleep-addled kiss. She imagines that Hermione is there out of love and not a tangle of duty and worry. 

When Lavender opens her eyes, there are tears on Hermione’s cheeks, and Lavender reaches up to wipe them away. 

“Stop.” Hermione tries to push Lavender’s hands away. “You shouldn’t be moving.” 

Lavender shakes her head and rubs her thumb over Hermione’s cheek. She leaves behind a smudge of red and somehow it makes Hermione look even more beautiful. 

“Stop, Lav.” Hermione’s voice is breaking on each word. “Don’t do this to yourself.” 

_I’m already doing this_ , Lavender wants to say. _What does it matter if I make it come a little bit faster? If this is going to happen, I want to have touched and held you._

Hermione brushes Lavender’s hand away once more and turns around, covering her face with her hands. She rubs at her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath, and turns around with a bottle of dittany. 

“Lay still.” 

Hermione’s touch is gentle but sure, and Lavender is secretly pleased. Pleased that because of her affliction she will die knowing what it feels like to be cared for by Hermione Granger.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” she mutters, one finger tracing a line down Lavender’s cheek, over the bruises on her throat, between her sternum. Lavender wonders if Hermione can feel the pounding of her heart through just that one fingertip. “Your scars have opened up even worse than yesterday.” 

Lavender smiles weekly, and it makes something in Hermione’s eyes spark and flicker. She splays out her hand on Lavender’s chest, warmth to warmth, and Lavender sighs contentedly. Hermione looks a little surprised at the sound, and if her face wasn’t covered with cuts and blood, Lavender is sure Hermione would see the blush spreading across her dark skin. 

Lavender reaches up and intertwines their fingers, heart racing at the intimate contact, she strokes her thumb over the back of Hermione’s hand. Hermione lets out a small whimper, and despite the immense amount of pain that she’s in, Lavender feels a warmth spread through her. She tries tugging on Hermione’s hand experimentally, and Hermione scoots forward on her chair. She tugs again, and Hermione leans forward. 

_I might as well die trying,_ is what she wants to say, but her voice hasn’t been working for days. She opens her mouth to try anyway, and Hermione brings a finger to Lavender’s lips. 

“Shh,” she smiles. “I know.” 

_You do?_

“I know how you feel.”

_She does?_

“Lavender, I—” 

At the use of her full name, Lavender squeezes Hermione’s hand, and Hermione momentarily closes her eyes. When she opens them, there’s a fire burning there that reminds Lavender of all those times at Ron’s bedside during school. She’d thought Hermione was jealous of her, jealous that she was at Ron’s side. 

“I want you,” Hermione says, cheeks flushing, but she doesn’t let go of Lavender’s hand. “I’ve _wanted_ you, but I thought since you’re hurt, it wouldn’t be right, and I wasn’t sure you felt the same.” 

Lavender wonders at this moment if she’s died. If this is the afterlife, or heaven, or a strange mixture of both, or neither. She wonders what she did to deserve this. She’s a Gryffindor, and yet when it’s come to Hermione, it feels she’s been a coward her whole life. She isn’t even sure when these… these feelings started. Was it while she was dating Ron? After? Was it during the war? After? Or maybe longer. Sometimes Lavender feels she’s been waiting her whole life for Hermione Granger, she just didn’t know it. Like something in the world slotted into place the day they met in first year, and it’s just taken Lavender however many years to realise. 

“Are you okay?” Hermione asks, and Lavender squeezes her hand, nodding against the pillow. Lavender knows she must look terrible right now—with gashes running down her face and hair frizzed against the cotton pillow sheet—but with Hermione’s gaze on her, so tender and sure, she feels like… Like she’s the only person in the world Hermione sees, like she’s the only person Hermione cares about, like maybe… Maybe she could still be beautiful. Maybe she is beautiful. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Lavender’s entire world stops. 

She squeezes Hermione’s hand and nods. Her pain is masked by a tingling sensation that is curling through her entire body. 

Hermione’s eyes flutter closed.

Lavender can’t close her eyes. If this is a dream or the afterlife, and she closes her eyes, then she might wake up, or open them and find Hermione isn’t there. And she can’t have that. So she watches with wide eyes, as Hermione leans down, and she can see each pore on Hermione’s skin, and she loves the woman all the same. She can see each individual eyelash, each split end and curl of hair, each line and crease and dot. And she loves her. She still loves her. 

When their lips meet, Lavender brings up her hands to tangle them in Hermione’s curls, and it sets her shoulders on fire, and makes her ribs ache, but then her eyes are fluttering closed, and Hermione is parting her lips, and Lavender darts her tongue forward. 

Hermione tastes like hope. That is to say, she tastes like mint and happiness. She smells floral and woodsy—a bit like a library. 

Hermione moans into Lavender’s mouth, and Lavender tugs on Hermione. Once, twice, until Hermione is climbing over Lavender and laying down next to her, their kiss only breaking for a second. 

Hermione traces Lavender’s jaw, runs her hand through Lavender’s curls. Lavender can’t be touched anywhere else without risking shocks of pain, and it takes everything in her not to pull Hermione down on top of her, to feel their bodies connected in one fluid line. 

But Lavender is fine to settle. Kissing Hermione feels like salvation, like maybe Lavender’s body isn’t trying to kill her so very slowly, like maybe she can live a normal life.

Maybe they can date, go to Muggle movies, get coffee, get dinner, get a place together, start a life together, get married, adopt kids, have anniversaries, make love, die together. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? 

Lavender flinches back, hissing, which in turn makes her hurt more. 

“Oh no, Lav.” Hermione’s hands agitate trying to find the problem. She reaches over to the bedside table and grabs her wand, muttering healing spells and checking Lavender’s diagnostics. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, Jesus.” 

Lavender closes her eyes and tries to tune Hermione out. All she wants is to tell Hermione it’s not her fault, but her stupid voice won’t work, and she’s bedridden, and she wants out, she wants to be better. Merlin she would do anything to be better. She would do anything to have a life with Hermione. How unfair, for her to find out that a life she’d thought was off-limits, turns out to be well within her reach, and there’s nothing she can do. 

She clutches at the bedsheets as another wave of pain courses through her, this one making her writhe and kick. Hermione’s casting takes on a frantic nature, and when Lavender tries to scream from how unbearable it is, Hermione pours a vial of dreamless sleep down her throat, and she falls into a world of darkness once more. 

~~~

Lavender wakes with Hermione curled up beside her, hand grazing her side. 

She has never wanted anything more. 

The bed curtains have been kept open, and sunlight is streaming in through a large window. It makes Hermione look like an angel. 

It makes Lavender feel like there are claws in her heart, and then she realises that this feeling is not going away, that her chest is heaving, that she can’t breathe. She reaches for Hermione, hating that she’s going to make her worry again, hating that she can’t have this morning. 

Her vision tunnels and she goes under to the sound of Hermione’s frantic voice.

Even when panicking, it’s the nicest thing Lavender has ever heard. 

~~~

She wakes a week later in the same bed. Her entire body feels like it’s been flayed open. That isn’t entirely untrue either. She has gashes running down her face, over her chest, claw marks down her arms and stomach and legs. 

It’s been five years since the war, and the scars which she’d gotten in the battle of Hogwarts have started to open and spread. 

Some sort of aggressive disease that they haven’t found a cure for yet. 

Because it only affects people with acute scarring, and it’s reacting strangely with the werewolf blood in her system. Or something like that. Hermione had tried to translate what the Mediwitche’s said, but it hadn’t worked. She blamed it on her pain-addled brain. 

It’s started shutting her body down in ways she’d never imagined. Their not sure what she’ll die from first: blood loss or her throat slowly closing. 

Her breathing is laboured today. It feels like there’s a weight on her chest, she can’t get in a full breath, and she wants to cry. 

“No, please, Lav.” Hermione is awake and holding Lavender’s hand. She can’t wipe her tears away anymore, it would hurt too much. Her cheeks sting as salt drips into her wounds. Hermione lets go of her hand to grab the dittany, and Lavender feels like she’s afloat on a black sea until Hermione takes her hand again. “I’m so sorry.” 

Now Hermione is crying, and that makes Lavender feel even worse. 

Lavender reaches out, and it hurts _so much_ , but she touches Hermione’s forehead, and then her own. 

“What?” 

Lavender points to Hermione’s wand. 

“Legilimency?” 

She nods. 

“Are you sure?” 

_Of course I am, I refuse to die without knowing how you feel, I refuse to die before showing you how much I care about you._

She nods again. 

Hermione takes a fortifying breath and accidentally lets out a sob. But she lifts her wand and points it at Lavender’s forehead. 

Hermione’s voice breaks. “ _Legilemens._ ” 

Lavender feels her enter, so kind and intelligent and soft and everything she has ever wanted and it feels amazing, to have Hermione caress every corner of her mind. Lavender readily drops every wall she’s ever put up, unearths every secret she’s ever had buried, and lets the feeling of Hermione reach and fill every inch of her. 

Memories flow into Hermione’s arms like a million stars, overflowing from her grasp, slipping through her fingers, thoughts and ideas and hopes and dreams and _her_. 

Hermione reading in a slice of sunlight, Hermione making breakfast, Hermione studying, Hermione at the Yule Ball, Hermione and Ron in the Daily Prophet, Hermione showing up on Lavender’s doorstep, Hermione’s lips and Hermione’s eyes and her nose, ears, fingers, nails, knees, neck, wrists, hair, cheeks, toes, everything everything everything everything. 

Daydreams about making love, daydreams about growing old together, daydreams about raising a child together. Showering together, going to the beach together, taking long drives through the English countryside together.

That one time Hermione let Lavender paint her nails an obnoxious shade of purple and how Lavender had wanted to hold Hermione’s hand every day after that. 

When Hermione had crashed on Lavender’s couch after her breakup with Ron.

For every star Hermione held, she gave Lavender a star of her own. 

The way Lavender’s hair felt through Hermione’s fingers, how Lavender had looked at Ron’s bedside at Hogwarts, Lavender’s laugh and the way she quirked a smile, how meticulously she did her makeup or chose an outfit, how Hermione thought divination was idiotic and yet Lavender made her want to believe.

Their minds mix together until they're both crying, and when Hermione pulls back, she gently put their foreheads together while tears stream down both their cheeks. 

“We wasted so much time,” Hermione sobs. “We could have been together all this time.” 

_I know,_ Lavender thinks, and it tastes bitter, because even if this is like sweet relief to Lavender, Hermione is going to keep on living. And now Lavender has made her life that much worse. 

She tries to push Hermione off, force her to leave, but she's still in her mind. 

“I’m not leaving you, I’m never leaving you,” Hermione says, still crying. “I could never regret you. Never ever.” 

_I don’t want to die, Hermione. I don’t want to die._

“I know, I’m so sorry, I know.” 

_I want to be with you. I don’t want to die._

Hermione’s entire body is shaking as she starts withdrawing from Lavender’s mind.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stay, it—” 

_It hurts. I don’t want to die._

“My magic is forcing me out, Lavender, please don’t go.” 

_I don’t want to die._

Her entire body is on fire. No matter how much dittany or healing spells or herbs or otherwise Hermione applies, Lavender’s body is tearing itself apart. She's been pushing it too hard, it seems that sharing her mind with Hermione was the last straw.

“Lavender, please.” 

Her vision goes red, then white, until it becomes Hermione, beautiful, wonderful, intelligent, ambitious, Hermione. 

“I need you,” Hermione chokes out. “I need you, don’t leave.” 

_I’m sorry_ , she thinks, but of course, Hermione can't hear her anymore. 

With every inch of her screaming, Lavender brings her hand to her bloody lips and kisses her palm. Then she reaches for Hermione, who takes Lavender’s hand to her own lips.

“I’m here, Lavender.” Hermione murmurs against her hand. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” 

And that is how Lavender fades out of existence, Hermione her anchor in the vast darkness, the only person Lavender had ever truly loved. She wonders, absently, how Hermione will cope after this. The pain slowly dwindles as her mind disconnects from her body, her throat too tight to breathe. 

“You’re okay, love, you’re okay.” 

Lavender dies with words she cannot say on her tongue. 

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this please consider reblogging my tumblr post for it: [here](https://triggerlil.tumblr.com/post/630616191387484160)


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